This balloon represents an act of everyday heroism.
The balloon had been in my older son’s room since his birthday in June. Lately, it’s been losing some serious air and drifting from room to room like a festive ghost. Somehow, it floated all the way to the basement stairs. So when someone left the door open (okay, neither I nor my son closed it), it drifted right out into the wintry mix.
My son, who had just gone outside in the snow, promptly melted down. Tears streaming down his eyes, screaming, stomping feet. The works. Plus, he was getting colder by the minute in the sleet / snow.
I took it as a “ugh, I’m sorry, that is sad” sort of moment. But my husband, brave soul that he is, asked, “Should I go find it?”
Shocked at the suggestion, I pointed out the unlikeliness of finding it but shrugged and said, “I guess if you want to.”
So he ventured out, armed with a rake for possible balloon-tree extraction.
And 10 minutes later, he appeared, bedraggled, wet balloon in hand. “Oh my God, you found it!” It had drifted down to the park across the street from us. It was sitting lonely in the corner of the tennis court.
Not all heroes wear capes – some of them come trudging in the door with soaked socks. But they’re still heroes nonetheless.